A Cherry Blossom Love
by kosmokomik
Summary: Wu/Sky, Closed Fist ending. As Sky hesitates in the role appointed to him by the new Empress, Wu does what she must to keep him alive.


**Author's note:** _A Closed Fist Wu, a Sky as the new Death's Hand, and one of the nights during which she has to reforge his will and scrub away all hesitation._

* * *

**A Cherry Blossom Love**

Wu undressed herself slowly, letting each tied string and neat fold take its time to become undone. While her eyes were focused on her own fingers as they worked away at her intricate outfit, she knew that his eyes were taking her in, worshipping each bit of skin that she revealed. His hunger was almost palpable, lusting after her hands, her lips, her entire being...

She strayed too close to the bed, and Sky's hand shot out, catching a lock of her long hair. He brought it close to his face and inhaled the scent of it: the lotus blossom petals that were scattered all around the palace left their traces on her.

She put her booted foot on his chest and smiled as his expert thief fingers removed them, his calloused fingers running over her ankles before she pushed him back onto the bed. "You're getting ahead of yourself," she said, slightly chagrined that her voice was becoming husky. Still, it could have its advantages: it was their night, and he treasured everything about them, obeying her every whim and desire.

Of course, she only called him to her bed when hesitation became too apparent in his demeanour. She knew that doubt had begun gnawing at his mind again, and that underneath the intimidating mask and black armor that no blood stain could cling to, he was battling her. He was battling their union, and the sovereignty of the Empire.

It was only to be expected. Everything moved in cycles, and it was that time of the year, when the cherry blossoms rained down in the corridors of the palace and their scent reminded him of something from long ago.

They brought back memories for her, too; of Two Rivers, and an uncomplicated life by the shore as Dawn Star massaged her shoulders after a long day of practice. Of fellow students that sparred with her, and laughter among the green hills.

Of course, the past burned and became impossible to reach, and memories were just that: memories. Soft lies to deceive her into servitude of Master Li: even at the throne, when she was ready to crush him, he tried to be the teacher. Always plotting, always turning things around.

She had to let go.

With a shrug, Wu let her robe drop, and it pooled around her on the floor: Sky's eyes roamed her naked body, taking in her scarred flesh and soft curves. His hands were about to reach out to her when she simply pushed him down onto the soft mattress again, straddling his chest and pinning his hands above his head so that she could lean down to his ear and whisper to him without any interference.

"We are absolutely nothing," she said softly. Beneath her hips, his body stiffened. _Good. _"Deadened weights, traversing across a finite time and space allotted to us."

First, she had to break him.

"Dust particles, scattering, leaving indecipherable traces of ourselves everywhere we go."

Then, she would create him all over again: create her own little Death's Hand, the will of the Empress.

Wu released her grip of his hands as she continued whispering to him, and his hands clung to her hips, tugging her down onto his groin: he pressed insistently against her, desperate with need, slowly driven insane with lust. So many conflicting emotions that stirred within him, as well, as he had to listen to her words.

She had to poison his mind; it was all that kept him together. If he was to awaken from his blinding love and see her – see himself – for what they had become since those cherry blossoms memories that haunted the edges of his dreams – then he would truly be a splintered shell of a man, unfit for duty, for love, for her. And she would be forced to show him mercy and kill him. Put him out of his misery.

She loved him too much to let such a destiny befall him.

"But you and I, we are beyond death. We know not to try and reach up to the gods, but to act as the supreme ones we are. We have done what others never could, and therein lies our immortality."

He flipped her over onto her back and slammed into her with full force, lips crashing, fingers bruising, limbs intertwining without consideration for her well-being. Just the way she liked him, just the way he was when his full fury unleashed itself upon her.

It was her fault, after all. She had made a choice without letting him know just how far her ambitions went. The least she could take as a punishment was the brutality of his hands – of Death's Hand – of her own creation – take it, and accept it. It was what he had become.

As he pressed against her, the scent of cherry blossom petals rose up in the air, crushed under her body. Sky, catching a whiff of it, let out an exasperated cry and slammed his fist into the headboard.

"Everyone around us will die and be forgotten in the process, for they are meaningless," she whispered, a bit louder, cradling his head against her breasts. "But you... My love, my will... You will never die, for you are death incarnate."

Words to try and calm him, to bring him back to where she was experiencing pleasure and pain in the royal bed; they were essentially futile. He was too far gone at the moment, and she was willing to give it to him, briefly.

Cherry blossoms.

The scent reminded him of a time before becoming involved in her intricate designs, before revenge soured what was left of his soul, before death cast a black shadow over his life. A day when he had been with his daughter and wife by a small lake, a warm day where he had felt completely content with being settled down and living a rather legal life.

She knew all about it, because she had made him tell it to her a few years ago. As Sky had kneeled in front of the Empress, she had made him recount every little detail, so that she could dissect every aspect of the memory until it lay at her feet, shattered and devoid of all warmth it had previously held for Sky.

That night had been particularly pleasant. He had bent to her will completely.

However, the scent carried a double-edged blade to her, for while it reminded her of a time before Sky, it was also Sky she strayed to when the cherry trees were blossoming.

He had kissed her under one, as they had stood in the Scholar's Garden, the sun setting in the west with shivers running down her spine as cool air settled. His hands had encircled her, and they had exchanged teasing words – but the words themselves had faded from memory, and she would never be able to recall them, just the feeling they had evoked in her. She had felt good about having him with her.

Undefined feelings of goodness, before the whole situation had been turned on his head. Still a relatively innocent young student, and a dashing rogue, that had kissed with open eyes and the tongue in the other's cheek.

She had grown to hate the scent since then.

Pulling him down closer to her, she bit his shoulder, fingers digging into his back, her legs wrapped around his. He was locked into her being, and she could feel the muscles growing harder under her touch again, and she closed her eyes as his mind sharpened into the tool she needed him to be.

"We might die," she whispered to him, voice breaking from the stimulation of his touch. "But when we do die, we will be beyond judgement." A warm tear hit her skin, and she smiled as her eyes fluttered close, moaning softly. It was done. He was complete.

A new Death's Hand. A constantly emerging horror that would be her salvation from the judgement of petty gods and deities, of humans and lesser creatures: she was the last of her kind, and he was an unique creation. Nothing and no one would be able to condemn them.

And as the night darkened, the last cherry blossoms in the palace above the clouds withered and died.


End file.
